


Tag (You're It)

by wakandan_wardog



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Dog Tags, Emotionally Repressed, Español | Spanish, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Getting Together, Humor, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Male Character of Color, Military Jargon, Minor Character(s), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prior Trauma (Mention), Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 16:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19429594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: Jake hacks a new system for the express purpose of getting the Losers prank dog tags printed and delivered. Mostly because his Unit is full of people that make bad decisions, himself included. And also? To flirt with Cougar.Jake is willing to do stupid, stupid things in order to flirt with Cougar.





	Tag (You're It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rinnwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinnwrites/gifts).



> On the Loser's Server, there was a discussion that I admit to having started regarding official ranks for the Losers and how they were wildly different from comic to movie. Another person pointed out how the names are also different, and once we all got done profoundly NOPE-ing over the canon we didn't like, we started picking at things. One of those things was the fact that Pooch's tags clearly state "Curley Pooch" in the Loser's Movie. I don't know why and I don't know who to blame for it, and I just HAD to write about it. It was just going to be a short, silly thing. Y'all know how well I do short, right? Well, here we are.
> 
> P.S. This is for Rinn, because, well, darling everything is. ❤️

Franklin Clay has known, since before their first meeting, that Jake Jensen was a handful. More than a handful, if one considers the fact that most of his file is write-ups and disciplinary notations and recommendations for reassignment. A meteoric rise through the ranks aside, Jensen has managed to piss off just about everyone that’s ever had to oversee him for any length of time. It’d be a skill if it didn’t border on the realm of unnaturally gifted.

Clay might be a little reluctantly impressed. 

But all that aside, the kid’s good. Even on paper, it’s evident that he’s a smart soldier if not a model one. Personally, Clay sees no point in punishing the guy just because his former CO’s couldn’t hack it. He hasn’t held it against the rest of his Unit either, why start now? So yeah, Clay signs the tech on, makes him a Loser, gives him a chance. Figures that he survived Roque, and Alvarez, so what’s the worst a kid genius can do to him? 

It’s simultaneously completely justified and the most naive he’s ever been, but he doesn’t know that until later. 

In the beginning, all he knows is he signs the kid on, and other unit leaders give him pitying looks. His men don’t, but they know better than that. Besides, any mistakes Clay makes are his own, and his men are more likely to make jokes at his expense than they are to offer any sort of assistance. Weirdly enough, there are a few up the chain that look relieved, maybe because Jensen will be off on ops and won’t be lingering on base… Maybe because they are in fact at their wit's end as to what to do with this kid short of taking him out back and putting him out of their misery. 

Clay treats it as situation normal and ignores them. 

He’ll give them this, the Unit upholds a unified professional front in public. But behind closed doors, they all give Clay honest reactions. Roque swears, long and loud, about another idiotic white boy to look after. Which isn’t exactly a compliment to Clay, but he’s not convinced he can take his SIC in hand to hand and Roque is way too fond of his fucking knives for Clay to even try to argue that. Alvarez says nothing, though expecting him to do otherwise would be idiotic. Porteous just laughs, resolves to kick back and watch how things fall out. Apparently, he’s seen some of the shit Jensen’s been written up for first-hand, and the official reports don’t even come _close_ to doing the guy justice. Trust Pooch not to say anything until after the paperwork has been filed. 

(Clay might be beginning to feel an inkling of concern.) 

With concern brewing in his gut, Clay thinks he’s prepared and forewarned, two of his Unit think he’s an idiot, and it’s the guy nicknamed ‘Pooch’ that actually knows the score. Maybe that’s why it’s only Pooch and Clay standing in housing when Jensen swaggers through the door. The kid nudges it closed behind him with a sweep of one booted heel, then halts in the middle of the living area with a standard issue duffle over one arm, a messenger bag slung across his chest and a tough-box type case in his hand. There’s a momentary standoff, which none of them seem inclined to break.

To Clay, Jensen looks like his file states. He’s six foot of American muscle, blond haired and blue eyed, with shoulders and a chest that back up every inch of his three hundred and fifty-pound bench weight. There’s spiked hair and a clean-cut jaw, and the tinted, round-frame glasses are dumb but don’t detract from the overall package. He’s what Clay would call a heartbreaker if Clay didn’t have experience with the way Alvarez can start a riot just by walking into a bar. Seeing as that’s not the case, Jensen barely even registers on Clay’s radar as a risk. It’s a little late anyway, the kid’s with them now. 

After two minutes of awkward standing, Jensen gives a visible shrug. He sets some of his gear aside to free up one hand and gives Clay a lazy salute. Though the gesture is casual, his blue eyes are keen behind his stupid, tinted glasses, and maybe Clay gets just a hint of what’s to come. But Pooch erases it by stepping forward, attracting Jensen’s attention so the kid pitches aside the tough-box he’s toting and snaps the other soldier up into a gleeful hug. Clay sees Pooch’s boots leave the floor and nods to himself, yeah, the kid definitely lifts more than the average soldier. 

Jensen’s practically crowing as he shakes the older man like his favorite life-sized stuffed animal. “The Pooch Man! Seriously, you’re in the house? Awww man does Jolene know I’m here? This is gonna be fuckin’ awesome!”

“Told her that her favorite white boy was back on my team, now put me down, you idiot!” Pooch barks a laugh and slaps the kid on the back before yanking himself back. “Look at you! Peach fuzz finally turning into something you could call facial hair, I’m so proud I could cry.” 

“Shut up, Linwood,” Jensen grumbles, elbowing the driver with a grin. “You’re just mad you can’t grow anything on that cueball of yours. Show me where I’m bunking, and tell me I’m not sharing with you? I know what you’re like after a bowl of chili, man, never again.” 

Clay might as well be invisible, for all the notice they give him during their little reunion. Pooch obligingly picks up some of the kid’s gear and leads him away, explaining about the set up of their current housing and how the rest of the team is sure to be out for the next hour or so. Clay watches them stride out of the room, heading for the back hallway and the bedrooms beyond, the dread in his stomach growing a little stronger. 

He should be glad that they’re friends, right? Maybe that means the Losers won’t be a man short next week, either due to Jensen being a bad fit one of the other men removing an annoyance. Instead, the two were thick as thieves and Clay had to fight down the distinct frisson of fear as he overheard Pooch suggesting they ‘ _get Cougar in on this thing too_ ’. 

Clay has time to wonder _what thing?_ before his brain points out that Cougar isn’t the sort to get in on anything, except cleaning out the team in Blind Man’s Bluff. Nothing to worry about, then, so the Lieutenant Colonel puts it out of his mind. Soon enough his Sniper and Second in Command will be back from wherever they vanished off to, and he’ll get a glimpse of how this team is going to shake out now that they’ve added their tech expert. 

Looking back, Clay almost wishes Jensen and Pooch had been enemies at the start, it probably would have been kinder to his blood pressure. He should certainly wish that the kid would kick off his first night by pissing off Cougar rather than Roque. Mostly since Roque was likely to wave a knife around and devolve to threats. If Cougar was pissed? No one knew about it, but the object of his ire was sure to turn up, dead or missing, with Cougar at least a mile away and therefore beyond suspicion. (Well, beyond the brass’s suspicion. Clay had seen Cougar make some impossible shots, he didn’t put much past the man anymore.) 

But, no, no. Clay’s life couldn’t be that easy. Sure Jensen’s mouth annoyed Roque the first night, but all the Captain did was pull out a knife and threaten him. Pooch waved it off, promised to keep an eye on Jensen, got him and Cougar to settle off to one side with a pack of cards and a wolfish smile. The sniper seemed neutral about the whole situation, but beneath the brim of his hat, his dark eyes fixed on the tech, watched Jensen’s expressive face and fluttering hands unblinkingly. 

Clay should have known it would be a pattern. But in his defense, at the time he’d just been glad to have a full team that seemed like it’d be moderately successful on ops. A functional Tech was something of a novelty, considering the last three they’d had on the team hadn’t lasted more than one mission and one hadn’t even finished that. Given that Jensen was not only a tech genius but a crack shot, Clay’d have put up with a lot to keep that asset in the Loser’s wheelhouse, even with a mouth like Jensen’s. 

But Jensen? Jensen thrives as a Loser. He overhauls all their coms, plays cards like a son of a bitch, keeps cool under pressure. Their second op he takes out two different guys before they can get the drop on Clay or Roque, saving the Second In Command from a nasty gutting and sparing him a new scar. Not only that, but the kid can hack enemy tech under heavy fire in under a minute, mouth running nonstop as he relays local trivia, picks off a straggler with his handgun, and gets them the info they need in record time before wiping the enemy system and beating boots to safety. 

They get through five ops without issue, then six, then seven. Before Clay knows it, Jensen’s been on the team for six months, and it’s strangely unthinkable that at one point the kid wasn’t running his mouth in the corner of the room. Jensen’s talking, situation normal, all Loser’s present and accounted for. Pooch and the kid continue to get on like a house on fire, Roque gives only minimal threats in a tone that approaches fond, and Cougar watches. 

Clay is firmly staying out of things, but if he were the type to comment he’d probably point out that Cougar and Jensen still worry him. Since Jensen joined the team, maybe Cougar is a little more on edge than usual, skirting around the edges of any gathering the Loser’s may have. Maybe the hat stays tilted a little lower over his eyes, maybe he’s less likely to charm the local girls when they find themselves at a bar or restaurant. Maybe he watches Jensen like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, however that may turn out. 

Jensen knuckles down and tries to project honesty, tries to dial down the geek chatter. Limits the weird useless facts, abandons attempts at talking to women, eeks closer to ‘toeing the line’ than Clay would bet the kid ever has in his life. Pooch watches in amusement but doesn’t say a word, just claps the kid on the shoulder now and then and shoots him an approving grin. Clay thinks he can deal with the current state of things, just celebrates the fact that they’re all functional. 

Then their new tags get issued, and Clay figures out that maybe, possibly, he’s in over his head with Jensen. 

*

The Private who’s acting as errand boy from the tag office looks mortified, which is Clay’s first clue that things aren’t right. Still, the kid has a box in his hands, filled with the standard issue plastic bags that each have paperwork stapled to them. There’s a clipboard tucked in alongside everything, and he reaches for it with a shaky hand after he’s saluted Clay and been told to proceed. 

“Standard reissue of tags for your unit, Lieutenant Colonel,” The kid mumbles. “Says here you’re the Loser- _oh_ …” 

Clay knows his face is probably doing something very unkind at that moment. It’s one thing for him to call his men that to their faces, he says it as their commanding officer. It’s one thing for the rest of the base to mutter about Clay’s Unit behind their backs, to call them The Losers and talk about the fact that they field ops most other groups wouldn’t even dream of handling. But no one, no one outside the Unit, is allowed to call them that shit to their faces. 

Roque went after the last guy dumb enough to do so, carved him up with the big knife he liked to call Lucille. Granted, it was in a bar off base and the Sergeant had been drunk off his ass… But word got around that it wasn’t a thing you did unless you wanted to be breathing out of an oxygen tube for a few weeks. Even the brass busting Roque down to Captain hadn’t been enough to kill the wolfish grin he gave when people bolted at the sight of him on base. 

“What was that?” Clay asks, ignoring the faint displacement of air that tells him one of his men just damn near manifested in the back hall. Probably Cougar, considering how quiet it is and how the kid goes a new shade of milk-white right before flushing bright red. 

“Tags for you sir, I’ll need your men to sign the sheet indicating they were received?” The boy tries instead, setting the box down on the table and pulling out the clipboard. “Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay?”

“Mhm,” Clay grunts at him, moving forward to take the clipboard. “Cougar, the others please.” 

Cougar says nothing, just drifts into the room properly moments before the sound of Pooch and Jensen come drifting down the hallway. Not waiting for them to be in sight, Cougar moves around the room in a circling pattern, glaring at the new kid like a big cat trying to intimidate someone out of his territory. 

Clay lets it happen with a smirk, signing off on the line by his name and handing the clipboard back to the kid. “Here.”

“Thank you, Sir,” The Private looks relieved to be able to focus on his job, rooting through the box and handing Clay what he deems to be the appropriate bag. 

Clay shrugs, stuffing the plastic and paper into his pocket and ignoring the soft chime of metal from within. Since Pooch and Jensen still haven’t appeared, he gestures Cougar forward and moves toward the hall. “Jensen! Pooch! Now!” 

“Sir, yes sir!” Jensen calls as he bounds into view, grinning idiotically. 

Clay wordlessly notes that he’s thankfully in uniform, though it’s just the army regulation tank and pants along with his combat boots. His hair is beginning to grow out, darker on the sides and at the roots than the bright blond of some of the spikes. It makes him look like a rather enthusiastic porcupine, the way its rucked up in all directions. Mostly his CO is just glad there’s nothing pink in sight. 

“Tags have been reissued,” Clay explains, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the kid. Cougar is wordlessly signing next to his name, eyes narrowed as he watches the encroaching soldier’s hand shakily paw through the contents of the box. “Go sign off.”

“Nothing wrong with my old ones,” Jake cheerfully points out. “Not like the last time around when they took a bullet so I didn’t have to.” 

That gets him a head snap and a glare from Cougar, but the tech seems clueless. Instead, he gives Pooch a friendly elbow to the ribs and bounces across the room, plucking the clipboard from Cougar’s hands and signing his own name with a flourish. 

“Me next!” He cheers as the kid’s hand rises from the box with the bag and paper for Cougar’s tags. His hands are outright and grabby, like some five year old. “Come on, come on, Jimmy. Very important military protocol being upheld here!”

“Ah, y-yes sir,” The soldier mumbles, jumping as Cougar snatches the bag and withdraws to a corner. 

The Sniper’s clearly maxed out on social interaction, but he remains in the room, watching Jensen continue to make grabby hands for his own tags with narrowed eyes. His gaze doesn’t move when Pooch shuffles over to get his tags, just follows Jensen when the tech steps away from the table and begins tearing the plastic to get his new tags out. Jensen crumples the plastic bag and stapled paper into a ball, pitching both onto the table as he palms the two tags and their new ball chain. 

“Where’s Roque?” Clay wonders as Pooch trades the kid clipboard for baggie and leaves the final bundle still in the box. 

“Hand to hand,” Jensen mumbles, and Clay can see he has his old tags in his mouth as he works to string the new ones on the chain they came with, likely in preparation to swap them out. 

“Guess you’re taking a walk,” Pooch offers to the kid with a grin and a shrug. 

“I can go with,” Jensen offers, tags dropping out of his mouth as he grins widely. “No use in making you run all over yelling for Roque. Bet you don’t know him to pick him out of a lineup, though he’s pretty easy to describe. Biggest, meanest son-of-a-bitch you’ve ever seen, ugly scar over his face, voice like an engine.”

“Jensen, shut up,” Clay orders with a grin. “Help the kid find Roque and get his tags swapped out, but don’t talk his ear off.” 

“Sir, yes sir!” Jensen chirps, door open and hand propelling the kid out the door. “Good luck with the new tags guys, bye!”

He hesitates in the doorway for a second, blue eyes fixed on where Cougar stands off to one corner of the room. When the Sniper turns in his direction he offers a grin, tilting his chin up so his glasses shield his expression once more. He’s out the door with a jaunty wave and a whistle, ostensibly to haul the Private off to wherever Roque is terrorizing the masses. 

Pooch watches the door slam shut with a narrowing of his eyes, then reaches for his new tags with a muttered curse. “Why do I have a bad… Oh no, _oh no_ , that little bastard.” 

Clay doesn’t know why, but there’s a resigned sort of fear in his gut as he reaches for his own. Somehow, he knows this is just going to be a problem. In the far corner of the room, Cougar is doing the same, tearing through the plastic to get at his new tags as he watches Pooch with a cautious narrowing of his eyes. 

Pooch is already through the plastic and paper, holding new tags up and staring at them incredulously. “What the fuck? These say my name is ‘ **Curly Pooch** ’!? That little _bastard_!” 

_Of course, of course_. Clay inhales deeply and rips into his own plastic, squinting warily at the tag. Most of the information is correct, though where his name should be, it isn’t. Instead, there’s a punched notation: **Volatile LoveLife**. _That little bastard indeed._

Jensen’s lucky he’s out right now because Clay won’t let Pooch go storming across base screaming expletives and threatening to kill himself a white boy. It’s a near thing, but he says as much when the wheelman heads for the door, pointing at the couch with a look that even a wound up Loser won’t ignore. 

“You are not storming across base yelling about killing a fellow officer, Pooch. He’ll be back here eventually, so sit the fuck down.” Christ, who knew that being the leader of a Spec Ops Unit would feel so goddamn much like babysitting? 

Pooch throws himself down with another muttered curse, stuffing the tags in one of the pockets on his pants and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m wearing my old ones, Colonel. And I’m gonna shove these new ones down his goddamn throat.” 

“As long as the old ones are still in good shape, I don’t care.” Clay agrees, turning to the far corner of the room to check on their sniper. “Cougar?” 

But Cougar’s gone without a trace, the front door closed and the hallway empty. Alvarez somehow managed to leave the room so silently that Clay’s not even sure where to look first. His choices are either the room that the Sniper shares with his Tech, a prime place for Cougar to sulk in… Or nearly anywhere on the base itself, where Cougar may even now be hunting down their idiot white boy. 

“Huh,” Pooch mumbles, coming to the realization that Cougar has abandoned them. “I wonder what _his_ tags said…” 

Clay can feel a migraine building behind his eyes. _Damn it, Jensen._

*

Carlos Alvarez- Cougar, to his fellow Losers- had gone a long time without belonging anywhere. Growing up he felt like something of an outcast even among his family and community, knowing that his preference for silence made him strange. _Always so serious_ , the adults would mock, if only they knew. 

Leaving his family at eighteen to join the military was less an ambition or goal, and more like a necessity. Carlos didn’t belong in the quiet of suburbia, not with the temper and the instincts hidden behind his silence. The military appreciated all three of those aspects of his personality, put a rifle in his hands, and set him loose upon their enemies. 

It was his first unit that gave him the nickname Cougar, good men that valued his silence even as they teased him for it. But that was what soldiers did, and even if he didn’t return the jokes, he smiled at the right time and joined in enough card or pool games to gain a reputation for winning. They took his silence at face value, called him Cougar, trusted him to have their backs. The fact that he’s the only one that made it out alive when their Unit got caught haunts him to this day. 

He’s still not sure exactly what made Clay bring him into the Losers. Knows, on some level, that they needed a Sniper for an op, but that’s minimal. There were plenty of Snipers on the base that could handle Clay’s somewhat careless approach to regulation, and a smaller number that were prepared to deal with Roque’s borderline insane affection for bladed weapons. But for some reason, Clay had picked Cougar, had made him a Loser without hesitation. Even his nightmares hadn’t changed that. 

Cougar is the first to admit, if only to himself, that it was getting bad before Jensen joined the Unit. Clay was used to troublesome soldiers, damaged soldiers, so he hadn’t ever made a big deal of it. But there were nights out in the field that Cougar could wake the whole Unit with his nightmares, and there were nights he’d fight like hell against anyone that tried to drag him out of it. There had been a reason he had his own room in base housing whenever they could swing it, though it was just as likely that Roque would bunk with him if they thought he needed handling. Nights when they all dogpiled on him until he was awake enough to be set free without harming anyone. 

But then Clay brought Jake on, and though the Tech was friends with Pooch he had refused to bunk with their wheelman. Things changed, somehow, just by having Jensen around. Maybe it’s the way the kid won’t sleep without having a long, hand-waving conversation with himself and the ceiling. Maybe it’s because even with his long, hand-waving conversations he still never seems to sleep all that much. Whatever the reason, Cougar’s nightmares aren’t as bad and don’t happen as often. There are days he even feels like Carlos again, rather than just Cougar, a hollowed-out Sniper that has more bad days than good. 

There are still nights he wakes up in a sweat, memories of captivity crashing around him, and the only thing that makes it better is Jake. Jake, their new Tech Specialist, their hacker extraordinaire. A ridiculous white boy, always too big too loud too fast, always in motion. His hands and his mouth and his quicksilver brain, none of it ever seemed to stop. Even asleep the kid was restless, prone to talking, moving his hands in his sleep like he was typing. Of course, Jake being Jake, sleeping wasn’t a thing he did all that often. Nine times out of ten, when Cougar woke up in the dead of night trying to escape his nightmares, it was to see Jensen across the room on one of his computers. 

Cast in the soft light of his laptop screens, usually half-undressed or wearing something ridiculously colored that was probably a gift from his niece, Jensen has a tendency to stay up late. Late like he’s on watch in the middle of an active zone, but instead, he’s fiddling with his computers rather than holding a gun. Still, it never fails to take the edge off of the nightmares. Jensen’s watchful eyes meaning safety, though Carlos sure as hell won’t admit it out loud. Ridiculous though it may be, Cougar can relax with Jensen. He sleeps better with the kid around, noisy and frantic and energetic though he is. 

If Cougar could just get past the urge to drag him to bed, things would be golden. But he hadn’t managed to shake it, yet, the insidious urge to pin the Tech to the nearest flat surface. Couldn’t quite drown out the voice in the back of his mind, pointing out just how easily Jensen obeyed the brief phrases or hand signals Cougar used in the field to relay information. Couldn’t avoid thinking that Jake went soft and sweet for him like no one else, obedient and willing and far too tempting. 

Hell, he’s thinking about it now, in broad daylight and in front of most of the Unit. Cougar shakes it off, tossing his head slightly as he tries to clear away the thoughts that would cost him more than a write-up and a demotion if they were discovered. Thankfully, no one seems to have noticed the drift of his attention or his correction of it. 

And still, his attention goes back to Jake. 

Jake gives him a look before he leaves. A soft, playful sort of look, a grin that isn’t all that carefree. Whatever he’s done, it isn’t to hurt Cougar, and he wants to make sure that’s known before he runs away from the rest of the Team’s reactions. If Cougar had the words to give him to ensure he knew that, he might say them, but instead he watches the door slam shut and then looks down at the new dog tags he’s been issued. 

He knows Jensen is behind the new tags, just like he knows the Tech didn’t mean anything malicious by them. Well, his own set, anyway. Though Clay’s was on point and Pooch’s set could very well be an inside joke, Jake wanted him to know it wasn’t the same with his set. Anyone else wouldn’t have gotten that from a look, but for once it seemed like Jensen was going to say things in Cougar’s language, so the least he could do was listen. 

The plastic tears easily beneath his hands, paper crumpling as he extracts the tags and new chain, tossing the rest into a convenient garbage can. The metal of the chain is bright and new, gleaming and clicking against the duller steel-color of the dog tags. Cougar can see all of the information is correct, except for the name. 

**Sexy Kitty** is stamped where **Alvarez, Carlos** is located on his current set of tags. Cougar reads the name, re-reads it, then folds his hand closed around the metal shapes and squeezes. He can feel the indentations on one side of the metal, the convex letters on the resulting side pressing into his fingers. **Sexy Kitty**. 

Was Jake… flirting with him? 

Seems like there are things they need to discuss, after all. Seeing an opening while Clay focuses on Pooch and how he’s all noise and fury, Cougar escapes out the door. He won’t have long before they notice he’s missing, so he swiftly heads off to find Jensen, his new tags clenched tight in his left hand. 

*

Jake Jensen has done his share of foolish things, both in and out of the military. He’s offended more COs than he’s impressed, backtalked brass in public and in private, hacked into files and databases he’s got no right to. But knowledge is power, and Jake is a smart son of a bitch. While he may not be powerful in the traditional sense of the word, he’s got enough access and information to sway a scenario in the right direction. 

The thing with the dog tags? Pure entertainment bullshit, if he’s honest. Ok, maybe also a little bit just to see if he _could_ pull it off, but he had so _booyah_! Just to cover his ass he’d made sure everyone’s current set of tags were ok before he’d made the digital file switch, even blackmailed Jimmy into the delivery of an official set the week before. So for the most part, the set Jimmy had been handing out today was just for fun, though Jensen stood by everyone’s new ‘names’ as gospel.

Yeah, even Pooch. Jolene had shown him the high school photos and once he’d seen his buddy with that hair, well, yeah he was gonna say something about it. Even if the something was _‘hey you make the right decision to shave your head’_ in the form of military issued identification. Jakes a complicated individual, ok? He’s got layers. 

For the most part, the team seems to forget that part. Well, except for Cougar. Carlos Alvarez is the only one that Jake can say doesn’t judge him on a daily basis. Maybe because Cougs took his measure at the first minute and has just believed everything he saw? But to Jake, that seems more Roque’s style that Cougar’s. Cougs is less a face-value kind of guy and more an _‘I already know everything because I’m basically a psychic motherfucker’ sort_. Which Jake shouldn’t find hot, but he does. Just like everything else about the Sniper, if one’s being honest. 

( _Fuck_ , so hot.) 

Anyway, Cougs knows a lot about Jake, but somehow he doesn’t know this. Yet. And truth be told? Jake’s sorta tired of hiding it, even though he’s scared as all hell that as soon as this cat is out of the bag, his time as a Loser is over. So yeah, pure consuming terror aside, mostly Jake’s just exhausted, so he’s decided that coming clean is the safest (and sanest) option. And where Jensen is concerned, well, idiotic gestures are kind of a given… 

So yeah, it’s for a few reasons that Cougar’s tags were probably the hardest to settle on. Jake had so much to say about the Sniper and so little room. Making a comic book reference would have been a cop-out, uninspired and likely to sail completely over the Sniper’s pretty head (hat and all). Anything too over the top would probably result in him being on the wrong end of Cougar’s rifle the next time the man had to requalify for regulations. So he’d had to sort of toe the line of honest and hilariously inappropriate because giving Cougs special treatment while everyone else got stupid nicknames would have been even _more_ obvious than skywriting. 

Besides, if Roque kills him for this stunt at least Cougs has a record of his feelings. Printed on steel, even! That’s gotta be worth something. 

“Alright, Jimmy,” Jake says with false cheer, putting Cougar out of his head for now. “You remember the deal?”

“I deliver this set of tags to your unit and we’re considered square,” Jimmy echoes glumly, shoulders sinking under Jensen’s arm as the taller soldier hauls him into the gym and combat hall. As usual, it’s a fairly busy place, with teams scattered through the equipment and sparring in the rings as well as working on punching bags or running on treadmills. 

Jake nods as he hauls the kid along, mumbling under his breath. “Mhmm, mhmm.” 

“I have not read them so I don’t know what they say, I’m just handing them out in accordance with the external documentation. I got them directly from the tags and equipment office, I did not print them myself.” 

“Very good, very good,” Jensen mutters, distracted as he paces along, hunting for Roque. “In short?”

“In short, I know nothing.” 

“Such a good boy, Jimmy!” Jensen cheers, companionably shaking Jimmy as he points across the room. “Maybe you’ll make it through this day after all! Aha! There’s Captain Roque, now! The big one taking apart that punching bag like it insulted his mother. That’s the one! And lucky you, it looks like he’s in a good mood! Off you skip, now!” 

Jimmy stares at Roque with obvious dread, watching the man snarl as he lands another hit on the swinging bag with a massive fist. “That’s him in a good mood?” 

“Hurry now, they never last long!” Jake beams and gives the kid a shove, planting his back against a convenient pillar with a leisurely wave. “Go on now, I’ll be here waiting.” 

He doesn’t say for how long, because if it looks like Roque’s going off the rails Jake’s gonna be _gone_. Let Jimmy deal with Roque’s not-so-tender mercies! But still, it seems to give the kid the courage to walk up to the Captain and interrupt his workout, brandishing his clipboard and hiding behind the shield of orders from higher up. 

_‘Smart move, Jimmy,’_ Jensen allows. _‘Can’t help what your orders are, can ya?’_

Roque grumbles at the kid, which is no surprise at all. But he signs the paperwork, and stuffs the new set of tags into his pocket while glaring at Jimmy like the boy is to blame for every inconvenience he’s ever experienced. It’s fun, but not as fun as Roque reading what the tags actually say, and Jake’s about to interrupt when Cougar steps into the room. 

The Sniper appears like magic, seemingly out of nowhere and already within what many would consider Roque’s personal space. Close enough to be reached in three strides or less is too close, most days, but Cougar moves with the ease and confidence that only a confirmed badass can summon. He moves forward at an angle, hesitating near Roque and the now-retreating Jimmy just long enough to speak. 

“Roque,” Carlos mutters, and somehow that low voice cuts through the general noise of the room. “Boss says there’s something wrong with the tags, make sure to read yours.” 

Then he’s in motion again, stalking across the room to Jake with a resolute expression. The Tech is already backing away toward the nearest door, summoning a weak smile and lifting his empty hands in a ‘look how harmless’ gesture. “Heya Cougs! Fancy seeing you here?”

“With me, _now_ ,” Cougar growls, catching Jake by one elbow and propelling him in a half circle so they’re both moving toward the door at a pace approaching ‘hasty’. 

“You know I’d go anywhere with you,” Jake tosses out carelessly, glancing back over his shoulder just as Roque makes a wordless sound of rage. 

“What the? Who the _fuck_ is **Stabby McKnifeHands**?” The Captain roars, spinning around in search of Jimmy. 

Jake’s gotta hand it to the kid, he got out while the going was good. Thanks to Cougar’s insistent hand and a shoulder check to the door, both he and Jensen are free and clear before the Captain catches them. The door swings shut behind them and Jensen risks a laugh, beaming up at the sky with an elated sigh. 

“Oh man, did you see that? What are the odds, huh? Man, I wish I had a camera for that moment.”

“ _Idiota_ ,” Cougar grumbles, continuing to haul him along. “And if Roque figures out it was you, eh? What then?” 

“Awww come on now, Cougs!” Jake wheedles. “You’re blaming me? How could I have anything to do with it? The tag database is on an isolated server and only people in that office have access to the appropriate machinery! It’s clearly just a wacky little mistake, and maybe there really is a unit out there with a Stabby McKnifeHands! You don’t know! Hmm, I betcha he has an extra difficult polygraph test. Don’t you think? With a name like that, I mean, it’d be profiling but it’s hard _not_ to, right?” 

Cougar stops dead in his tracks, shoving Jake until the soldier stumbles against the wall of the nearest base housing structure. Once Jake was stationary Cougar stepped in close, bracing his left hand over the Tech’s shoulder and hemming him in. “You want to continue this game? _En serio_? _Conmigo_?”

Jake relaxes against the block wall, turning it into a leisurely lean rather than a somewhat-graceless fall. He barely stays standing when Cougar steps into his space, but it’s hard not to melt when _all of that_ is _right there_. Still, the Sniper’s eyes are narrowed in a glare and his full mouth downturned in a frown, voice lowering with proximity. As rare as it is for Cougar to speak, it’s even rarer for him to string more than five words together. Based on limited experience -and the fact that Jensen considers himself an expert in Cougar- it’s a very, very bad sign when the words become a torrent of both English and Spanish. 

“Hey, hey,” Jake offers as softly as he can, holding his hands up in that traditional ‘harmless and unarmed’ gesture before carefully reaching out to curl a gentle hold around Cougar’s right elbow. It’s sort of hard not to reach out, especially with the Sniper is hemming him in against the concrete wall at his back. Jake’s too weak to resist. “Alright, at the risk of you murdering me, yes, I did it. Of course, I did it, but if Clay or Roque ask, I know nothing.” 

He gives a smile and a shrug. “I promise, it was a little bit of fun, but I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true… Right?” 

“Your tags,” Cougar begins, brown eyes narrowed and searching. 

“Also say something suitably embarrassing, but nevertheless accurate,” Jake promises in his best serious tone. “I promise, I’m not walking out of it scot-free either, okay? I wouldn’t do that.” 

“Why?” Cougar wonders and he holds up his fist before unfolding it, revealing the tags cupped there. “Jake, _no entiendo_ …”

“Aww come on, you’re smarter than that.” Jake teases gently, poking Cougar’s tags with a finger before reaching into his pocket with his free hand to produce his own. They’re strung on the new chain, but his regulation ones are still on, tucked under the thin barrier of his tank. 

The ones lying in his hand are easy to read. **IfLostReturn 2Cougar**. 

Jake has more than earned the disapproving look Cougar is giving him, but he grins like he knows it’s just a front. Cougar wants to shake him, but tsks in reply instead, shaking his head faintly while fighting a smile. “That is what you went with?” 

“I know, it’s weak,” Jake agrees easily, smiling and offering a shrug. “In my defense, I was closing in on like sixty hours of no sleep, and you usually begin to run interference by that point. I had to work fast to get the new files dropped and bounce out of the server before anyone caught on.” 

Cougar shot him the glare he deserved, not appreciating the eye roll reply one bit. “Jake.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s weak.” Jake continues, voice soft. “But it’s nothing that isn’t true, alright? Clay does have a volatile love life, Roque is stabby, and you… Don’t kill me man, but you? Cougs, you’re incredibly sexy. I bet there’s not been a girl in any of the bars you’ve ever been to that would say otherwise.” 

“And you?” Cougar tilts his head, questioning and alluring all at once. “What about you?”

“Well, of course, I think you’re sexy,” Jake misunderstands with a dramatic eye roll. “That’s why you got the tags in the first place!” 

“ _Cabrón_ ,” Cougar growls, pocketing his tags so he can jab Jake in the ribs with a warning finger. “Your _tags_ , Jake, your tags.”

“Oh…” Jensen pauses, looking a little unsure, a little soft as he swallows heavily and shrugs. “Well yeah, man… I’m always going to want to come back to you.” 

“ _Estúpido_ , how about not getting lost in the first place?” Cougar argues, and while Jake’s still blinking at him all soft and bewildered he leans in and kisses him square on the mouth. 

Whether it's to silence Jake or just because he wants to, Cougar couldn't honestly say. Still, no matter what the reason, it works for a minute or two. As soon as they part the Tech is talking again, his voice soft with shock. 

“Hmm… What were we talking about? Me getting lost is bad, right? I think... Why don't you run that by me again?” Jake mutters when they separate, blue eyes gone hazy and soft. “Just to make sure I didn’t misunderstand… Don’t want anything lost in translation, right?”

"To shut you up," Cougar agrees and leans forward for another kiss. 

Let the rest of the Losers sort themselves out, the two of them have better things to discuss. 

*

Although he’s not allowed to wear them in place of functional identification, Jake keeps his new tags. 

Cougar does too.

**Author's Note:**

> So, some Spanish translations!  
> Idiota- Idiot  
> En serio? Conmigo?- Seriously? With Me?  
> No entiendo. - I do not understand.  
> Cabrón- Dumbass  
> Estúpido- Stupid
> 
> The Losers Server is a lot of fun, for being a horrible bunch of enablers. ^.~  
> ❤️ ~ Wardog


End file.
